


Workaholics

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Oral Sex, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ingram and Madison are both workaholics, but they make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Workaholics

**Author's Note:**

> One line is a gentle nod to ghostchibi's fic. :)

Ingram leans over her workbench, one armored gauntlet flat on the surface as she ticks through the requisition order. Places a careful check mark next to the screws. Chews her lip, considering the amount of steel currently in storage-- enough for usual operations, but she wants to ensure every soldier has their power armor fully repaired before the upcoming battle with the Institute…

Brisk bootsteps behind her. Light, unarmored. A rapid heel-click against the metal floor and a rustle of cloth.

“Hello, Madison,” Ingram says without turning.

“Do you know what time it is?”

Ingram turns, grinning wide and crooked. Has a clock on the wall behind Madison-- precise timekeeping is important when maintaining discipline and routine-- but instead studies Madison’s face. No more of that austere sterility from when she first left the Institute, but still scrubbed. Lab coat no longer a blinding white, but still closer to clean than most other doctors can claim. Even aboard a ship with the Prydwen’s extensive facilities. At least now, sun-touched and with a few wisps of hair escaping from her bun, she no longer looks so freshly untinned.

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me,” says Ingram. Arms loose, hands by her side. Open for an embrace, because it’s dangerous to initiate if Madison is in one of her moods.

“Ten in the evening. Ten _twenty_ ,” Madison adds, arms crossed. Foot tapping the floor, brow furrowed. “Third night in a row.”

“There’s always work, love.” A familiar excuse.

“There’s always work because you don’t _delegate_.” A familiar response.

“Like you’re one to talk.” And the familiar counter.

Madison laughs, brittle and sharp. All their words a rattle of sabers, going through the motions without any expectation of resolution. “No one else can do what I can. That’s why your precious Elder recruited me.” An emphatic pause. “Again.”

Deep waters, eddies of resentment over sharp-edged bitterness. Better to steer away. “No one else can do what I can, either,” Ingram says, voice low and soothing.

“Inventory? Cataloguing the list of repairs and handling training schedules?” Madison shoots back. “Request a Scribe to assist you.”

Ingram spreads her hands, placating. “They won’t be able to do it as well.”

“Takes time and practice. Like everything else.”

“Fine, you win.” Ingram turns back to the workbench, making a dramatic show of rustling the papers together and walking to her desk-- footfalls heavy, deliberate-- to set them down, pencil set at a precise diagonal on top. “I’ll say goodnight to the grease pit.”

“Did you eat?” Madison asks, sharp gaze landing on the gnawed apple-core sitting in the wastebin with a battered box of Fancy Lads.

“Are you offering?”

“The galley is closed, but--” Madison yelps, more surprise than indignation as Ingram kisses behind her ear, hands over Madison’s shoulders and massaging. Delicate, deft-- Ingram can custom-calibrate a suit’s autonomic feedback system, can use her heavy gauntlets to pick up a ripe mutfruit without so much as denting the skin-- but Madison is more precious than any of those, and needs a careful touch, if not a soft one. A familiar rhythm in the knit of bone and muscle. Less satisfying as direct tactile stimulation, but close enough that Ingram still knows all Madison’s weak points.

Ingram licks her lips, presses wet skin against Madison’s neck and nuzzles the tendon running below the jaw. Tastes clean, fresh. A hint of tarberry. God, it must be late if Madison already took her shower. “I always wanted to eat you out in engineering…”

“This place is filthy,” Madison mutters. Reaches around Ingram’s neck, twisting her fingers through Ingram’s hair and scratching light over the scalp.

“I’ll put a towel down.”

“And lock the door?”

“Of course,” Ingram soothes. “So is that a ‘yes’?”

Madison purses her lips, eyes dark. Fixes Ingram with a steady glare, pins her down like a specimen for study-- tracing the curve of her jaw, the lines on her face. Minute details for later recall and recollection. Like she’s precious in every imperfection, from the cowlicks on her brows to her chapped lips.

Finally, Madison nods.

“My wife is gracious,” Ingram chuckles, kissing Madison’s nose before shutting the door and locking it. Keeps the key in a compartment on her power armor, with her estradiol tablets and all her other important items. Would keep Madison there too, if she could-- close and protected, except there’s no way to keep Madison if she doesn’t want to be kept. She escaped the Brotherhood once, escaped the Institute-- always leaves on her own terms, returns when she wishes. Sets her own boundaries.

So when Ingram turns back to the workbench, she makes sure to grab a clean towel and spread it over the bench. Brushes her lips against Madison’s forehead, dry and warm, and presses the top button of Madison’s coat through its hole before Madison slaps her hand away.

“You’re going to get grease all over it,” Madison mutters, harsh by habit. No true venom in it. Unbuttons herself briskly, folding the coat and setting it over a chair. Undoes her boots, her pants, strips them off with equal efficiency and laying them down. Her white underwear-- and it truly is white, not some awful greying shade that’s been washed and rewashed from whatever the original color was-- follows with the same lack of ceremony.

“Top too?” Ingram asks. “Would love to see you naked.”

Madison snorts, unbuttoning her blouse. “You always say the most romantic things.”

“You want romance? I can bring you fifteen pounds of hubflowers, next time. Lay them all in a trail from engineering to your office, crawl down on bended knee and serenade you.” Ingram laughs, breath warm over Madison’s cheek as she reaches around Madison to unhook her bra.

Madison bites her lip, raises a hand to shield the growing pink on her cheeks. “Then I’m responsible for the noise complaints.”

“Such a romantic way of saying I can’t carry a tune in a bucket,” Ingram mock-grumbles, laughing. “Good thing neither of us are into romance.” She folds Madison’s bra over the coat. It’s plain grey, some kind of synthetic material that shimmers in the light. Utilitarian. “Are you gonna sit down, or should I pick you up?”

Madison answers by hopping onto the edge of the workbench, shivering as she leans into the wall with her bare shoulders. “Cold.” Fair skin already prickling, her brown nipples hard and puckered.

“I’ll warm you up,” Ingram promises, kneeling in front of Madison with a whirr of servos. Extra height from the power armor makes this easy as she braces her elbows against the table, wraps her hands over Madison’s thighs and pulls apart. Fingers set firm, dimpling the pale flesh as Madison hisses through clenched teeth. Ingram kisses an apology at the fold of Madison’s thigh, bumps her nose against Madison’s clit and breathes deep. Warm, musky-- a hint of acid sweetness, savored like a fine wine. Buried between Madison’s legs, it drowns out the grease and metal of the workshop.

Ingram works her mouth sweet and gentle, firm presses with her lips, kissing over the warm mound of Madison’s pubic hair. Slips her tongue through Madison’s folds, pulls up against the clit and chuckles as Madison bites off her own moan, fist beating the table.

“You’re allowed to make noise,” Ingram says, voice husky with want. Her own groin stirring, throbbing to life. Clit fully erect like it could beat through the front panel of her armor.

Madison snorts through her nose. “I am choosing not to.”

“Fair enough,” Ingram murmurs. Returns to Madison’s clit, swirls her tongue and laps broad and gentle. Picks up pace with Madison’s breathing, Madison’s thighs quivering as she strains against Ingram’s power-enhanced grip. Knows the way Madison’s body sings for her, loud and sweet even when Madison’s biting herself to stay quiet. Tremble of her thighs, a hitch in her hips and arching towards Ingram’s mouth as Ingram flicks her tongue to a hard point, wraps her mouth over Madison’s clit and sucks until Madison’s gritting her teeth, groaning. One fist clenched in her own hair, the other pulling taut on Ingram’s as she grinds into Ingram with a muted scream, a harsh grunt all that escapes her lips.

Ingram kisses Madison’s belly, the soft swell of her flesh. “Want another?”

“Only if your knees are fine.”

“Nice thing about not having knees-- they don’t get sore.”

Madison laughs in surprise, and it lights up her face-- crinkles her forehead, her eyes, makes her look so much younger even as it deepens her crow’s feet. “You really are terrible. I didn’t meant that--”

“It’s different if _I_ say it,” Ingram points out. Waggles her eyebrows. “So, want another round?”

“Once we’re back in our quarters, yes.” Madison smiles, cool and fresh. Like clean water spilling over dry earth. “I think you’ve spent enough time in engineering today.”

“But you’re my favorite project,” Ingram chuckles, rising to her feet. Lips smeared with Madison’s wetness, leans in for an open-mouthed kiss.

Madison kisses back warm and full, teeth sharp against Ingram’s mouth. “Let’s go to bed, love.”


End file.
